


Fleur de Désir

by SKinsey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Dirty Talk, F/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5557502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKinsey/pseuds/SKinsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working in the greenhouses alongside her professor, Rose comes across a plant she's never seen before. As the effects quickly set in, Neville knows he's in for trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fleur de Désir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tamlane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/gifts).



> Just an excuse to try the sex pollen trope

There was a sizzle within Professor Longbottom's greenhouses that Rose found nowhere else. Unlike the comfort of home, the peace of a good book, or the quiet content of sunbathing in warm summer air, being in the greenhouses set a fizz in the pit of her stomach. 

Particularly being in the greenhouses with _just_ Professor Longbottom. That was what really struck the match in her chest. 

This evening was no different. 

She was pollinating plants by hand while Professor Longbottom— _Neville_ —was gently tying the new sprouts to save them from snapping. She was always eager to help him with the last of the day’s work after dinner, when the greenhouses were cooler after the sun had set and he rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his shirt some. Rose couldn't help but glance over at him every once in a while, enthralled by how such large hands were so nimble with the thin twine and delicate plants. 

"Rose?"

"Hm?" Her gaze snapped up from his hands to meet his deep brown eyes. 

“I asked what your plans are for the summer,” he said with a chuckle. “Your mum was saying you applied to a St. Mungo’s apprenticeship?”

“Oh, yes." She nodded, tucking her ginger hair back behind her ears. “I was accepted actually. I start healer training two weeks from now.”

“Rosie!” Neville exclaimed. She blushed at the grin that spread over his features. “Congratulations! That’s fantastic!”

“Thank you.” She offered a small smile back. “I’m so nervous. I can hardly believe I’m about to graduate, let alone go out there and get myself a job.” Shaking her head, she moved on to the next plant, regrettably moving away from him.

“Oh, you’ll be just fine, Rose,” he assured. “I can’t think of anyone who would be a better healer than yourself.”

“That’s…” she laughed, “very kind of you to say.”

She touched the petals of a flowering plant she’d never seen before. “Oh, this is new,” she commented. “Did this just arrive?” The petals were smooth and soft under her fingertips, something about the dark purple drawing her in. Leaning forward, she inhaled deeply, taking in the strong floral perfume. She sighed. “Godric, that smells…fantastic." It was rich and robust, heavy as it seemed to settle into her lungs. She felt dizzy.

“ _Mmmm_ ,” she hummed. “What…is that?” Weak-kneed, she slumped against the bench, nose buried into petals. 

 

Neville looked over at her in alarm. “Rose? Rose, what happened?” He was by her side in a flash, hands on her shoulders, pulling her upright. She was conscious, her eyelashes fluttered, but her weight fell against him limply. 

He swept her hair from her face and lightly tapped her cheeks, felt her forehead, checked her pulse. She moaned, opening her eyes to look at him and sucking in a shuddery breath. “I feel funny.”

“Sit down.” He dragged a crate out from the corner and planted her on it. He looked at the plant curiously. “Shit,” he said. “Shit, shit, shit. I didn’t grow this.” He rushed to his desk and ripped through the drawers, pulling out one massive text after another until he found what he was looking for. He tore through it, landing on a page with an illustration of a purple flowered plant. “ _Fleur de Désir,_ Flower of Desire,” he read aloud. He sped-read the two pages and then shut the book, acting quickly. 

He disposed of the plant, tying it shut in a burlap sack and setting it in the bin behind the greenhouses. When he returned, Rose was panting, head tipped back and one hand sliding down her neck, between her breasts. She cupped and squeezed through her sundress, moaning, and Neville’s eyes dropped as he caught himself staring, his own lips parted and breath picking up. This didn’t help matters, he was now staring at her slender hand on the inside of her thigh, gradually pushing her skirt up.

“Rose,” he said, “Rose, stop. Let’s…let’s go see Poppy—I mean, Pomfrey. Let’s—” She let out a long moan as he tried to take her hand from her thigh, tried to pull her to her feet. He let go instantly.

“What…what’s happening?” Rose’s head rolled forward, and she looked up at him through her lashes. “It’s too hot. Too hot.” She pushed the thin straps of her dress from her shoulders. “I need…”

She reached for him, and he skirted around her hand and away. “Rose,” he said. “Listen.”

Her hand was now well up her dress, her knees fallen apart, her eyes closing. “Mm.” 

“Fuck.” He pressed at his temples, staring at the ground. “Fuck. Okay.” He took a deep breath, then crouched down in front of her. He took hold of her forearms and held them in the space between them, pointedly ignoring her glistening fingers. “Rose, look at me.” She did, instantly, and her eyes seemed darker. Pupils blown wide, they looked more black than the warm brown he was used to. “That plant you smelled? That’s the Flower of Desire. I don’t know how it ended up in here, but it wasn’t supposed to be. That’s what’s making you feel this way, alright? Are you in pain?”

She nodded desperately. “It burns. Everything burns.”

His lips pressed together in concern. “You understand what’s happening?”

“That fucking plant.” He couldn’t help his amused smile at her language. “Professor, please,” she said, “I need it. I’m so hot. I can’t…I can’t.” She fought his hold. 

“Let’s go see Pomfrey,” he said again, grip tightening.

“Is there an antidote?” she asked.

“Well…no,” he told her. It only then occurred to him that there was nothing the nurse could do. He recalled the reading. “You just need to work it out of your system, darling,” he said. “Erm…are you…seeing anyone?”

She shook her head. “Uh-uh.”

“Okay. Well. Perhaps you could just…work it off on your own? Have you ever…?” He closed his eyes. This was not in his evening’s plans.

“Sometimes,” she replied. By the look on her face he garnered that was an understatement.

“Alright.” He nodded uncomfortably, swallowing hard and releasing her wrists. “I can walk you back to the castle…”

Her hands ran up and down her thighs anxiously. “I can’t go back like this,” she said, squirming on the crate. “Not like this. Please.” Her eyes welled.

“Okay,” he said quickly. “Okay, that’s fine. You don’t have to. You can stay right here, if you want.” He reached out to soothe her, then withdrew his hand on second thought. “I’ll—I’ll lock the door for you, alright?” he told her, standing. “Stay right here, and I’ll be back to check on—”

“No!” she cried. She caught his hand as he turned. “You can’t leave me! I—” More tears sprung, and he was startled by how scared she looked.

“Rose,” he said. “You’re going to be fine, okay? I promise. I won’t be far.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to be alone.” She was squirming more incessantly now, thighs rubbing together, pretty features contorting in discomfort.

“Okay,” he relented. “You, er, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be…” He gestured vaguely towards his desk before walking away, grabbing a pair of earmuffs from the second year’s mandrake lesson as he went. He sat, slipped the protective gear on, and then turned his chair to face the foggy glass wall, only distantly hearing the crate move about.

It took all of his self-control to remain seated, to remain staring straight ahead at the nothingness, to not turn around. He idly picked up the tome he'd consulted and opened back to that same page. 

_Fleur de Désir is found in...First discovered in 1604 by Louis Dubois...Laws surrounding its use...Affliction occurs when the plant's pollen is introduced to the body through ingestion or insufflation...An affected person will experience intense arousal and/or pain, which may be relieved through sexual pleasure. Oftentimes those afflicted require stimulation from a partner, as high doses of the pollen, depending on the height and weight of the witch or wizard, can leave the subject unable to reach sexual climax on their own..._

Neville paused, wondering just how much pollen Rose had inhaled. Perhaps he ought to check on her. 

The very image that thought produced had his trousers feeling tight. He took a deep breath, disgusted by his reaction. She was eighteen for fuck's sake. 

He was concerned for her. That was all he was allowed to be, he told himself. The poor girl was in pain and agony, and he was getting hard at the thought of her pleasuring herself. Just a handful of metres away from him. 

He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment to collect himself, he looked at his watch. It had been nearly twenty minutes now. 

Concerned, he deemed it appropriate to remove his earmuffs for a moment. "Rose?" he called out. The sound of her whimpering was hard to interpret, but then she seemed to cry out in frustration and pain. 

He jumped to his feet. "Rose, are you alright?"

"I can't." He could hear her sobbing now. "It's not working. Please, professor..."

"Rose...I'm sorry. Is there someone I could get for you?"

"No." She was crying, only interrupted by her short frustrated scream, and he finally turned to look at her. 

His breath caught. She was lying back on the work bench, skirt hitched up her dangling legs, the top of her dress pulled down, if she'd been wearing a bra it was gone now. 

He cleared his throat. "What can I do to help you?"

"Touch me," she begged. "Please, just touch me."

"Fuck. Rose, I can't." His cock stiffened once more. "I...anything else."

"Please," she whimpered, "it hurts. Please, just help me."

He closed his eyes. What was he supposed to do? She was in pain. Who else was there to help her?

There was a nagging voice at the back of his mind. Someone her age. Someone who isn't her professor. Anyone else. 

But she was looking at him. 

"Okay," he said finally. "Tell me what you want me to do." He pushed his sleeves up a bit higher, walking over to her. 

There has to be rules, he told himself. He was only going to help her. Her. His pants would stay on. Firmly on. And only what she asked for. Nothing more. Just until she was no longer in pain. That's all. 

"Touch me," she pled. 

He swallowed. "Where?"

She took his hand and put it exactly where she needed, her hips instantly jerking against his touch. She moaned. If she'd had knickers those were gone too. 

"Yes," she said. "More."

He stroked her tentatively, her soaked folds slicking his fingers. He tried to keep his eyes on her face, away from her pert breasts and hardened pink nipples. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. 

He rubbed little circles on her clit, the bud hard and prominent under his fingertips. 

"Is there, uh, anything in particular I can do to...help you along?" he asked, attempting an even voice. 

" _Ah_ ," her back arched a bit, and that time he couldn't help but stare at her freckled chest, "talk to me," she said. 

It took him by surprise. "You mean...dirty?" he asked. It wasn't something he was adverse to, the opposite really, but he was out of practice. When they'd been together, it was something Hannah had explicitly disliked. He had respected that, but that didn't mean he hadn't missed it. 

Rose was nodding. "Mhm. Anything."

His eyes widened. Anything. He let out a slow breath. "Okay. Tell me if I go to far." Licked his lips. "I want your legs wide open, sweetheart. Spread them." It was wrong how easily the words poured out of him. 

She obeyed instantly, her knees splaying to either side of the table, and she whimpered as he drew two fingers from her sex to her clit. He groaned. "Godric, you're dripping. All over the work bench, too. I'll bet they'll smell you tomorrow, all the little boys getting hard from your scent."

Her hips lifted, seeking friction. 

"Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he teased. She jerked against his hand in response. "Don't worry," he soothed. "I've got you. I'll get you there." His fingers slid over her clit in sure, slow strokes. 

"More," she panted. 

He wasn't sure whether she meant his talking or touching, but decided he ought to give her both. He slipped two fingers into her heat with ease, his thumb applying pressure and quick circles to her sensitive bud. "I don't think I've ever smelled anything as sweet as you," he went on. "I'll bet you taste as sweet, too. Like honey. Would you let me taste you?" He hummed, curling his fingers to find that rough little spot inside her. She cried out. "I wonder, has anyone ever licked you to orgasm before or would I be the first?"

"Professor, I—I'm so close. Please. Please," she mewled. Maybe he wasn't as rusty as he thought. 

He smiled, kissing her temple as she pressed her cheek into her fanned out curls, and then her whole body tensed. "That's it," he coaxed. "Go on. Come on my fingers." 

He could pinpoint the exact moment she orgasmed, she let out one long, shuddering breath of a cry, her body went lax, and her walls pulsed around his fingers. 

He didn't stop until the flutterings within her did, and then he withdrew his hand, tempted to lick his fingers of her essence. He shook his head and wiped them on his shirt tails, turning his attention back to her. 

"Better?" he asked. "How do you feel?"

Even as she was catching her breath, she was shaking her head. "Not enough," she breathed. "More. I still...I need more. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he told her. "It's not your fault. Relax. Should I continue...?"

"What you said," she panted, "about...about using your mouth? Would you?"

He swore under his breath. Would he? Of course he would. Hannah had never let him; she thought oral sex was dirty, both giving and receiving. He loved it. There were few things he loved more than eating a woman out, having a girl come undone on his tongue, that heady sense of power with her vulnerability, trust, and pleasure. 

"Yes," he said. "Whatever you want."

"I want," she said. "Please."

"Scoot back," he ordered. She budged up on the table, wriggling out of her dress as she did. 

She was completely bare to him now, all soft supple skin, sprinkled with freckles, nipped waist, gently flaring hips, neatly trimmed curls above her sex. She was magnificent. He wanted nothing more than to dive in. 

He leaned down and kissed her navel, mouthing his way down, shortly deviating to lick a stripe up her hipbone. "Feet up," he murmured. "Let me see that pretty pussy." He positioned her legs himself, legs bent and knees wide. 

He blazed kisses up her inner thigh, then gave her one broad lick. She jerked. He pinned her with his hands on her hips. Then he set to work, tongue flicking across her clit, dipping in for a taste at the source, lips sucking gently at her sensitive flesh. 

She was divine, mewling above him, her fingers combing through his hair. Each time his lips closed around her bud her fingers tightened, pulling him closer. 

Soon enough he was pumping two fingers steadily within her, mouthing at her most erogenous zones. He placed her legs over his shoulders. 

She was spouting nonsense above him, babbling a string of unintelligible pleas. When she came, thighs clamped around his head, shaking helpless to the pulsations, he licked her clean of every drop. 

"More," she breathed. "I need more."

His lips moved back to her clit. 

"No," she tugged him upwards, "you. Inside me. Please, please, I want your cock."

He froze, and in that time she was sitting up and undoing his belt, his zip, her hand was in his pants, gripping him in her hot little hand and—"Rose, no!" He stepped back from her, and she let out a desperate whine. 

"Professor, please," she said. "I need it. I need more. I need to...to be filled."

"I can't. I shouldn't—"

"Help me?" Her hand went between her legs, hips rolling mindlessly. "What else am I supposed to do? It won't stop. You have to help me."

He could feel his resolve crumble. Any rules he had flitting away. He pulled a hand through his hair. "Fuck. Damn it all to hell." That's where you're headed, he thought. 

He shed his clothes quickly, jerked her forward by her bum, and thrust into her with hardly any effort at all. She was tight, yes, but so slick and hot. He turned them round and lay back on the table himself. 

If this was going to happen, she was in control. Somehow that eased his conscious—how much was he taking advantage of if she was the one in charge? 

She was moving instantly, grinding down on him with a wanton moan and then lifting up only to drop right back down. " _Yes_ ," she sighed out, "yes, yes, yes."

"That's it," he encouraged, "that's a good girl. Get yourself off. Fuck yourself on my cock."

She cried out. 

"Go on." He was losing control then. Words tumbled out of his mouth without thought, without filter. He'd never experienced anything so blissful, how tightly she gripped him, how hot she looked working herself to climax on him. "Look at you, so fucking sexy. Such a little slut. Bounce on it." She moved faster, frantic. "How's it feel?" he said. "Godric, I can't remember the last time I fucked a pussy like yours. You feel fantastic." He reached up and toyed with her nipples, pinching them just enough to make her whimper, then cupping her breasts and squeezing. They were the perfect size, he thought, filling his hands, yet proportionate to her slim body. She was beautiful. 

"Come on," he thrust up into her, "come for me. I want to feel you come on my cock."

"Fuck me back," she begged. "Please, professor."

His hips were meeting hers then. "Rosie," he said, over and over again, "Rosie." Her hips rocked against his, and she came with a shout. He wasn't far behind her, chasing his orgasm the same as her. 

She collapsed atop him, chest heaving and breath hot on his neck. 

"Feel better?" he asked. 

"Much," she said. "Much, much better."


End file.
